


in ten breaths (it's a miracle if we're still alive)

by notcaycepollard



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Steve Rogers is a demanding little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7122877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's just," Steve gets out, "it's just, could you..." and then he tilts his head back, lays his throat bare, and it's like all the connections in Bucky's head fire at once.</p><p>"Are you serious?" he asks, and Steve's blush gets darker but he nods, licks his lips, lets his mouth fall open a little. "Jesus," Bucky says. "Fuck. I. Okay." He's not sure it will be, not really, but he's never been able to deny Steve anything like this, not with him laid out moaning underneath Bucky and so beautiful Bucky could almost cry, so he braces his weight on his left arm, and carefully, carefully sets his palm on Steve's throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in ten breaths (it's a miracle if we're still alive)

When Steve asks, Bucky's not expecting it at all.

He's fuckin' literally _in Steve_ , his teeth sunk into his lip from the effort it takes to go slow, to make it good, when Steve blinks big blue eyes up at him.

"Hey," he says, and it comes out a little shy, a blush spreading high across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, "you think you could..."

"Too much?" Bucky asks, tenses, about to pull back, because this is the first time they've done this again in, like, seventy years, and it's taken them a while to work up to it. Okay, it's taken Bucky a while to work up to it. He's just. He- it's his body, he knows it's his body, and Steve trusts him, and Steve's strong enough now that Bucky knows he won't break neither. Maybe Bucky's afraid _he'll_ break, or something. It's complicated.

"No," Steve says, urgently, "no, _shit_ no, this is, oh god, this is so good, you feel so good," and he moves a little under Bucky, arches up against him, and Bucky has to bite his own lip a little harder because fuck _yes_ it feels good, there are sparks going off at the base of his skull, his skin feels hot and tight and if he's not careful he's going to blow.

"Yeah," he agrees, breathless, "yeah, god, Steve, you- yeah."

"It's just," Steve gets out, "it's just, could you..." and then he tilts his head back, lays his throat bare, and it's like all the connections in Bucky's head fire at once.

"Are you serious?" he asks, and Steve's blush gets darker but he nods, licks his lips, lets his mouth fall open a little. "Jesus," Bucky says. "Fuck. I. Okay." He's not sure it will be, not really, but he's never been able to deny Steve anything like this, not with him laid out moaning underneath Bucky and so beautiful Bucky could almost cry, so he braces his weight on his left arm, and carefully, carefully sets his palm on Steve's throat.

" _Oh_ ," Steve gasps, "oh, oh god," and Bucky smiles at him slow and tender.

"You used to want this all the damn time," he says, soft. "Pushing and pushing me to do it, and I never would." He _remembers_ , remembers Steve all delicate and sharp-boned and still begging for it. Bucky had been afraid, then, just to put his full weight on him, even as Steve insisted he wasn't _fragile_ , Barnes, put your fuckin' back into it.

"I could have taken it," Steve says, his jaw set in a challenge Bucky recognizes all too well, and Bucky's all the way back in the goddamn thirties, an argument they've had over and over for months.

"With your lungs, and your breathing the way it was? Nah," he says, thrusts his hips, tightens his grip just a little. Just enough to watch Steve's eyes widen.

"We did after, though," Steve says, and yeah, yeah, they did, Bucky straddling Steve's hips in the narrow camp bed, forearm across Steve's throat, figuring out this new Steve and how he worked, his muscles and shoulders and frame all different to what Bucky's body remembered but his mouth and eyes so familiar it hurt. They hadn't been able to fuck - hadn't had time, privacy, the luxury of any of it - but the drag of skin on skin, the way Steve had gasped and shuddered against Bucky's grip, it'd been enough.

"Look at you," Bucky murmurs, drags his fingers up just a little, curls them under Steve's jaw until he's got his thumb pressed against the pulse-beat, and pulls back, a long slow drag out and in again. "Look at you."

"You can-" Steve bites out, "you can- _harder_ , please," and god, he's always so demanding, Bucky remembers that for sure, but if he's got enough breath to sass Bucky _can_ probably go harder, so he tightens his fingers, feels Steve's heartbeat speed right up to match.

"Like that?" Bucky asks, and Steve moans, the flush in his cheeks spreading past his jaw, his collarbones, working its way down his chest, and oh god he's beautiful, he's so beautiful, Bucky wants to give him everything he wants. He's fucking him properly now, harder, hips moving in an insistent rhythm that’s _so good_ Bucky’s not gonna be able to keep it up for long.

“Like- fuck, that- god,” Steve manages, and Bucky pushes into it a little more, just enough to hear Steve gasp. Back when Steve was still gleaming new and Bucky was just Bucky, no traces of winter on his skin, he'd been able to push his whole weight down, curious and desperate and wanting to test all the limits, maybe. He'd been thin from war and shitty rations and weeks of capture, and Steve'd had forty pounds on him, more, could have thrown Bucky off with nothing more than a breath. Now, they're more evenly matched, and Bucky has to be careful, but he presses down, listens to Steve’s breath gasp out in a series of staccato bursts.

“God, Steve, _Steve_ ,” he whispers, and it comes out reverent. He leans in, their bodies close, and kisses Steve wet and filthy, feels Steve swallow against his hand. Leaves his forehead resting against Steve’s, slows down until they’re all heat, the desperate, syrup-thick slow drag of body against body. Steve’s dick is a hard line against Bucky’s belly, leaking and wet on his skin, and Steve brings one hand down from above his head, touches Bucky’s hair and then tangles his fingers into it. Bucky’s got his other hand held tight with metal fingers, and maybe it’s too tight, maybe it’s a grip that hurts, but Steve’s not complaining, and Bucky just _wants_ so damn much.

“God,” he murmurs again, a low hum against Steve’s skin, and he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve a bit of it, he’s just so goddamn _lucky_ , and it all comes out in a stream of breath that has Steve making a desperate noise underneath him, pulling his hair painfully hard so that Bucky can’t do anything except kiss him again.

“Buck-” Steve says, voice rough with emotion or maybe how Bucky’s got him by the throat, and Bucky pulls back, checks in.

“Like this?” he asks again, and Steve blinks in the way that’s always meant _yes_ , but then he’s biting his lip, looking a little like he wants something more. “You want something?” he says, low and teasing, and presses his thumb deliberately into the carotid, exactly where it’ll get Steve’s head rushing. (It’d kill someone, too, his muscle memory tells him, insistent. He thinks he knew that before he was ever _soldat_ , but it’s been so long, he can’t be sure. _Not helpful_ , he thinks, and focuses on Steve all hot and glorious underneath him.) “You want something, Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, eyelids fluttering closed and then open again, “yeah,” and rolls his hips, makes Bucky suck in a sharp breath and struggle to hold back. “I want-” he says, stops, opens his mouth, drags his tongue over his bottom lip. “God, Buck, I want-”

“What do you want?” Bucky asks, loosening his hand, leaning in close again until his whole field of vision is just _Steve_ , close enough that when Steve flicks his eyes to Bucky’s left arm, he catches the gesture.

“ _Please_ ,” Steve says, and Bucky takes another breath.

"Jesus _fuckin'_ Christ. Jesus Mary and Joseph. You got a death wish, Rogers?"

“No, I just- Bucky, _please_.”

“God,” Bucky says again, flat with shock, has to take a minute. “God, Steve, what if I-”

“I trust you,” Steve whispers, “come _on_ , Bucky, I trust you, you’re not gonna get triggered here, it’s safe as houses, _please_ ,” and the thing is, Bucky really has never been able to not give Steve what he wants, whether that’s fucking or love or Bucky himself, laid out bare for Steve to take with both hands, so he bites his lip and nods.

“You _tell me_ ,” he says, rough, “if it’s too much, you fuckin- you know what to do,” and Steve does, Steve remembers their old signals just as well as Bucky, so Bucky takes a deep breath and then _moves_.

He’s holding all his weight on his left arm, which means when he shifts it transfers down into his palm, his right hand on Steve’s throat, and for a brief moment Bucky’s balanced by his hips and that one hand bearing down all his weight, and Steve’s eyes go wide with the sudden pressure. Then Bucky catches himself right-handed, slides metal fingers up under Steve’s jaw, and Steve’s whole body reacts at once.

“You fucking goddamn _filthy_ danger junkie,” Bucky says admiringly, and he _is_ , he’s reacting to the adrenaline better than Bucky could ever have imagined, the knife-edge of being pinned like this, “ _fuck_ , Steve, look how you love it, did you- Jesus, did you get hard when I took you by the throat back when I-”

“No,” Steve gasps out, “no, it wasn’t- wasn’t _you_ then,” and that’s, god, it’s so much, Bucky has to sink his teeth into his lip until he draws blood.

“You want more?” he asks, “you want-” and Steve’s mouthing _yes, yes, yes_ , struggling for breath, and Bucky remembers what it was like, to test limits, to push them right to the edge. “You’re so goddamn _reckless_ ,” he says, and it sounds fond, it sounds like _I love you_ , he pushes into it and pushes into it and Steve’s hair is sticking to his forehead and Bucky remembers a hundred different times, Steve thin under him and just wanting and _wanting_ and pushing Bucky into giving him everything, always. “I told you,” he grits out, “I _told_ you, don’t do anything _stupid_ , this counts, okay, this _counts_ , Christ, look at you,” and maybe Steve’s recklessness is rubbing off or maybe Bucky’s always been dumb too, stupid when it comes to Steve, because he shifts his weight again, holds himself up by his left hand hard on Steve's throat, spits in his right hand and wraps it slick around Steve’s dick.

Steve’s steel-hard, and every breath is a fight, and he’s moaning, quiet and wanting, noises that make Bucky's head rush. Bucky pulls out, pushes back in, aims straight for the sweet spot, and Steve doesn’t have enough breath to scream but Bucky knows exactly what it looks like on his face. He twists his hand, rubs his thumb hard over Steve’s head, and Steve’s just- _wrecked_.

“Look at me,” Bucky tells him, “Steve, look at me,” and Steve blinks, catches Bucky in the blue of his eyes, and Bucky can feel everything buzzing under his skin, can feel exactly what it’ll take to tip Steve over the edge. “That’s right,” he whispers, “yeah, Steve, just keep- just like that,” and then he tightens a metal hand the last half-inch until Steve can’t breathe at all, and he’s coming and coming and coming, his whole body tight and desperate and _needing_.

Bucky holds him there for one long moment, holds it just long enough to prove a point, and whether it’s to Steve or to himself he’s not quite sure. When he finally, finally loosens his hand, Steve drags in a breath, desperate and joyful, and that’s the noise that tips Bucky over, the noise he’s been waiting for, and he comes so hard it feels a little like dying or like coming out of ice or like the first rush of air back into his lungs after cryo.

“You _do_ got a death wish,” he teases Steve after a few minutes, collapsing down next to him and touching fingers gentle to Steve’s throat where the outline of metal fingers is clearly visible, livid on his skin. “You’ve got bruises and all. Looks like someone tried to take a hold of you.”

“Someone did,” Steve shrugs, voice raspy, “don't worry, they’ll be gone by morning,” and then he’s rolling in toward Bucky, kissing his jaw, his forehead, his mouth. “Thank you,” he says, sincere, and Bucky kisses back, tries to say it without words.

_I’d give you anything you asked for. You know that, right?_

He thinks, after all, that Steve must know. He only ever asks for things Bucky can bear to give.

**Author's Note:**

> hello i am [on tumblr](http://notcaycepollard.tumblr.com/)


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